ST. HOLIDAY SLASHES DEPENDENCE ON FOREIGN OIL!

In an act of patriotic sacrifice, after which his name should at least appear in the footnotes of the Annals of Nobility, Holiday quit his job. By so doing, this paragon of the genus hetero sapiens has reduced his personal fuel consumption by an astounding 80%. Of course, now he may not be able to pay for the other 20%, but that's besides the point. This correspondent can almost hear the shrieks of the sheiks when they learn of this startling development, which is sure to inspire imitators across the nation and is already earning the admiration of the Powers that Bedevil. Who would be surprised if St. Holiday is tapped to become our next Energy Czar? He has always been slightly ahead of our time, setting a pace for the rest of the nation. Experts predict an increase of unemployment throughout the country on the heels of Holiday's heroic act.

Reached at his footquarters in the newly-renovated Off Center, the saintly one said, "Now, I recognize how wrung I've been." Pressed for further comment, he said, "What do you expect from someone tortured at Gitmo? I don't know nothing. I'm innocent." He declined to elaborate.
The Lovely One was heard to say, "Holiday, you need adult supervision," to which he responded, "You mean like Superman?"

Fans of the cyber-hunk might well wonder what is in store for him. According to his publicist, St. Holiday hopes to exploit the rich mineral deposits in his own backyard. Moreover, he is currently trying to obtain funding from his mortgage company and other creditors for his next mammoth project, the complete and utter construction of a colossal Statue of Slavery to be erected at the mouth of the Delaware River on the soil of the People's Republic of New Jersey. This he intends to donate to the American people in a gesture inspired by the French. What's more, our New Wage Guru (No Wage?) seems to be infected with a sort of joie de livre, as he pours himself into his latest literary venture, an expose to be entitled "Colonoscopy of the American Government, A Deeper Look at Our Political Polyps." His representative asserts that competition among prospective publishers is sure to be hot, and a seven-figure advance can be expected.

Contacted at her infamous retreat in the suburbs of New Jersey in the middle of her bridge match, Gloria Van Sciver, mother of our hero, said, "I'm glad he's finally using his talents in a productive way. I can't take credit for his success." Her last statement raised a general chorus of cackles among participants in the tournament and onlooking family members. One was heard to say, "That's because he hasn't had any success!"

To the blind, St. Holiday is still exhibiting remarkable immunity from the visible signs of aging. This he attributes to secrets he derived from his meticulous studies of Egyptian mummification techniques, in addition to regular topical applications of fruit preservatives in his nightly "jam sessions," as he calls them. Moreover, he is eating lots of fiber to add volume and vigor to his morning routine. While others all around are dying of meat, St. Holiday is beating the medical odds, still disease-free after nearly 3,000 weeks of mortality. His example and innovative spirit are certain to have a salutary effect upon... Well, that remains to be seen.

MY FANTASY

Welcome back to the seventh and deciding game of the World Series. Here we are in the bottom of the ninth inning, Yankees leading 7 to 4, but the Phillies have the bases loaded. There's been a pitching change, the Yanks bringing future Hall of Famer, Mariano Rivera to the mound. He only needs one out to wrap up the Series for the Yankees. The batter is St. Holiday, and he's had another great season, but an unproductive day at the plate today, going 0 for 3 with three shallow pop flies, hardly what we've come to expect from the slugger. Now all of the hopes of the Phillies and fans up and down the Delaware Valley rest on his broad shoulders.

Rivera winds and pitches, strike one, fast ball, right down the center of the plate. He really challenged St. Holiday with that pitch. 0 and 1 on the batter. Holiday steps out of the box, adjusts his gloves, takes a practice swing, and steps back in, set for the next pitch.

Rivera gets the signal from Posada, nods, checks the runner at third, winds up and delivers .... Strike two! Oh that was a doozy! A slider that caught the outside corner of the plate. Impossible to hit. 0 and 2 on St. Holiday.

And now the Yankee fans are on their feet. Listen to the roar! Only one strike away from another World Series victory. I should have brought ear plugs. Rivera steps off the mound and motions to the crowd to settle down. The place is shaking from the noise. Everyone is standing and screaming. And, look at that! Holiday is laughing! He's laughing! That bespeaks confidence. How can he be laughing in a situation like this, two outs in the ninth, with his team losing 7 to 4, and with him in the hole 0 and 2. Amazing.

Mariano Rivera doesn't like it. He throws the rosin bag to the ground. He sets, takes the sign, shakes it off, takes another, shakes it off, takes a third, nods, goes into the stretch, looks at the runner on third and fires the pitch.

Oh! He brushed him back! Holiday dives to avoid the pitch. That pitch nearly hit him on the side of the head. He got out of the way just in time. Holiday gets up and brushes himself off. He's still smiling. The umpire is going out to the mound to admonish the pitcher before this turns ugly. The Phillies are yelling obscenities from the dugout. Holiday is signaling to them to calm down.

OK, here we go. Order has been restored. Everyone is still standing. There's chanting and cheering from fans of both teams. What a game! Holiday steps into the batter's box, taps the plate three times, and lifts his lumber. Rivera takes his sign from Posada, sets, begins his wind-up ...Wait! Holiday calls time and steps out of the box. What's he doing? He's pointing to center field! He's pointing to the upper deck in center field! O baby! That takes a lot of nerve. Listen to the boos from the Yankee fans. But the Phillie fans are drowning them out! Oh, Jove, help me! This is unbelievable!

Rivera is really upset now. I wouldn't be surprised to see another pitch high and inside after that display from St. Holiday. Here comes the Yankees pitching coach to the mound, no doubt to try to calm the seasoned closer. I can't tell what the coach is saying, but Rivera is nodding. He only needs one more strike. The coach is probably telling him to focus and not let Holiday's antics at the plate distract him from the business at hand.

Alright, Rivera is ready. Holiday is in the box, set for the pitch. Runners will be going. Rivera takes the sign, winds and throws ..

Holiday swings, and Oh, Brother! It's a long drive to deep left center! Look at that baby go, back, back, outa here, home run, grand slam! The Phillies win the Series! The Phillies win the Series! Oh, he smoked that pitch! What a mammoth drive, deep into the upper deck of left center field. Rivera threw a blazing fastball, and St. Holiday got all of it. What a shot! Holy macaroni! An upper decker; one for the books. There is pandemonium in the stands! 8 to 7, Phillies win the series. Un-believable!

HUMMER!

No, we have not suddenly acquired an expensive SUV. Rather, our beautiful Rufous Hummingbirds have returned from Mexico to perpetuate their species here in the White Mountains of Arizona. They arrive every year around July 15th. As can be seen in the photos posted here (taken by Raelene), the Rufous possesses exceptional physical charm. The male is distinguished by his holographic gorget, pronounced "gorjit." This is a bright patch of metallic color on his throat. It seems to change color from a fiery orange to a stunning green, depending on the angle of perception. The female Rufous lacks a gorget, but they have a sweeter, non-aggressive personality. The male is the most territorial bird I've ever seen. Though we hang four nectar feeders, it will claim possession of all of them, allowing none but their mate to have access to the sweet drink. It does not appreciate the concept of sharing. I take delight in watching their aerial dogfights with other males and with other varieties of hummingbirds. The male Rufous will dominate over every other species. He is quite selfish. He'll even buzz my head when I'm changing the nectar in the feeders. He will take a perch above the feeders and exercise the greatest vigilance, ever ready to swoop down on any trespasser. Other hummingbirds employ the strategy of distraction, sending one to the feeders to draw off the dominant male Rufous, and then flying in for a drink while he is chasing the decoy. It's a constant game.

Tragic Loss

My very favorite shirt is about ready for a dignified retirement. I don't have the heart to toss it in the trash or to tear it into rags, for it has always been a comfort to me in this hostile world. I bought it for 25 cents at a thrift store in Albuquerque 12 years ago. The color is pukish, and the pattern is circa Howdy Doody, but I have never had, nor can I find, a shirt to match its softness. It is so soft, it must have been chewed by Eskimo women. Now it is threadbare, missing buttons, frayed and possessed of large holes in the sleeves. The creator of the shirt is Yaga, which sounds like something Pre-Columbian. I don't know if they're still in business. The Lovely One says she'll look into it for me. I have other shirts, but they just don't have the baby-cheek feel that my Yaga has. The Lovely One took some pictures of me, wearing my flashback of fashion. I will miss the classic and distinctive styling, that edgy hobo look I expect in exceptional menswear. Most of all, I regret having to part with something so familiar, something frayed and broken down like me. If my companion will give me a quarter, I'll head back to that thrift store in New Mexico, looking for another Yaga.